by Jeff Fisher I still get PTSD driving past that old Agency building on Wilshire Blvd. It was 1994, and I was making $325 a week as an assistant at one of Hollywood’s major talent agencies. My mornings looked like this: arrive, make sure the call list — two hundred names deep — was updated, and get ready to roll calls for what felt like the rest of my natural life. The occasional stapler got hurled across the office to get someone’s attention. The vibe was The Devil Wears Pr